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Brook Houglum

He just doesn't like the idea of lawn art

4 October 2005
Vol. 5, No. 3
poetry, prose poem

You spend the last part of the party in the laundry rubbing salt into wine splotches on your shirt, thinking, even the stone painted like a ladybug, even the slug made of Christmas lights, even rusted bicycle wheels soldered to spikes? This is not party talk about landscape…

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